


On the right side of too much

by Sail_On



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, PWP, Sex Toys, butt plug, questionable work ethics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sail_On/pseuds/Sail_On
Summary: The Enterprise Center is drawing in less fans than the UC just yesterday, an observation which Jonny would have crowed to TJ, back in the days, or maybe just to Pat at home, if TJ was down from a loss. It doesn’t change the fact that there are people there, though, sitting, standing, and cheering. People who paid for tickets to see their team compete.And Jonny, the captain of the opposing team, is doing laps on the ice with his dick squeezed painfully into his cup, and a plug up his ass.





	On the right side of too much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheNorthRemembers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNorthRemembers/gifts).



> A few months ago Mel and I agreed that we would both like to read a fic like this but, alas, it had not been written yet - which is why I ended up giving it a go. So, you know, happy birthday to you, have some porn! :D
> 
> Thank you to [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteentorafters/pseuds/thirteentorafters) for seeing this over despite it being the holiday season.
> 
> Finally, I'm encouraging anyone who googled themselves or might know these people personally to click away, pretty please.

 

When Jonny skates out on the ice, he’s hard.

It’s just warmups, but there are already people in the stands, which are full enough, but not quite as much as they would be during the regular season. The Enterprise Center is drawing in less fans than the UC just yesterday, an observation which Jonny would have crowed to TJ, back in the days, or maybe just to Pat at home, if TJ was down from a loss. It doesn’t change the fact that there are people there, though, sitting, standing, and cheering. People who paid for tickets to see their team compete.

And Jonny, the captain of the opposing team, is doing laps on the ice with his dick squeezed painfully into his cup, and a plug up his ass.

Jonny doesn’t know why he agreed to do this at all.

He finishes the lap, feeling his legs starting to warm, feeling the way each stride nudges the plug deeper, snug between his cheeks. _Not too much lube_ , Patrick had said, _so it doesn’t slip out_. They’re moving around so much on the ice that Jonny might find himself with the plug popping up and just hanging out in his underwear, and nobody would want that, would they? Imagine the shame, Jonny, the embarrassment if they saw the shape of it through your pants, and everyone _knew_.

Jonny had whimpered and let Patrick put the plug in him nearly dry, backed against a wall in a corner where they were _practically_ sure that no one would find them. Not completely 100% though. Because Patrick knows Jonny, and he knows how hot the risk gets to him. Even if they shouldn’t. Even if they can never let the public find out that they’re together.

And because Patrick knows Jonny, he has this insufferably self-satisfied smirk on his face when he skates past and shoots him a puck, because he knows for a fact that Jonny is hard now. That he feels exposed and embarrassed, and he’s getting off on it so incredibly bad.

When Jonny sees Patrick’s face, it’s easy to remember why he said yes.

 

***

 

“Wouldn’t you like people seeing you like this? So desperate for cock, so fucking beautiful? See that their captain just wants to spread his legs and be held down.”

Jonny gasps, flushed all the way down to his thighs, between which Patrick is kneeling in all his naked glory, smirking at Jonny. He’s reduced him to a blubbering mess with his fingers and the vibrating dildo that he’s ramming against Jonny’s prostate leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. It’s not enough to really get Jonny off, but if Patrick just keeps talking, projecting images into Jonny’s mind like that, then Jonny thinks he can get there anyway.

“Look at you,” Patrick coos, voice deep and velvety like it always gets when they’re both so into it. “Come on, Jonny. Look at yourself.”

Jonny does, blinking down at his stomach, the way sweat is pearling down his abs, how hard his cock is for Patrick, for Patrick’s words, Patrick’s cock – even a silicone one. He knows that he looks debauched like this, and he knows that Patrick thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, because just like Jonny likes being watched, Patrick loves to watch. Just the reminder of it, added to Patrick’s eyes on him, makes him let out a needy moan.

“Pat,” he rasps. “Please.”

“Yeah, Jonny. You like me watching you. You like being stuffed full of cock while I watch, and I know you’d like it if it was someone else too.” Jonny makes a protesting noise, because he doesn’t want anyone else, he wants _Patrick_ , but Patrick shushes him. “I know, I know, sweetheart. You don’t want anyone else to _touch_. Because you’re mine.”

“You’re mine too,” Jonny says weakly, clenching around the dildo.

Patrick’s hand has stilled, no longer fucking him with it, but the vibrations still send sparks up Jonny’s spine, and his legs fall open even more, as far as they’ll go. Jonny is not ashamed of _this_. There’s a sense of shame that tints the idea of other people seeing him like this, judging him, but never Patrick. He arches his back a little, putting himself on show for Patrick. Patrick lets out a small laugh, definitely choked in the middle, and Jonny grins up at him proudly.

“Course I am,” Patrick says. “But I’m not enough, am I?” Jonny opens his mouth for a second, but then closes it again, because Patrick’s eyes are sparkling, and he’s got to be going somewhere with this. Hopefully somewhere that includes actually getting Jonny off. “You want everyone to know that you’re mine, that you get like this, just for me. You could skate out into the UC with a cock up your ass and you’d love it, love that they could see how easy you are, how hot it makes you.”

Jonny blinks up at him, breathing hard, skin tingling with the thought of it. The UC can host a lot of people. More people than even Jonny’s fantasies usually hold.

“And the fans, they’d be shocked,” Patrick purrs. “To see their captain like that. They all still think that you only stick your dick in tall hot blondes, but if they knew, they’d know you like men, wouldn’t they? That you’re not only queer, but that you like to take it up the ass so much that you can’t even stop for a hockey game. Because you need to be filled up, all the time.”

Suddenly he starts up the movement of the dildo again, pressing it forward in one swift motion until it’s fully buried inside Jonny’s ass, causing an electric shiver to go through him. Jonny gasps, toneless, arching towards Patrick’s wrist as he silently begs for more. Everything feels hot, from his body, his ass where Patrick is taking up the relentless fucking again, and his mind, whirling with image of skating with a dildo up his ass, people seeing him, judging him.

“Pat-“

“Yeah baby, you like that idea, don’t you? Cause you know they’d be into it. They’d see how hot you are and they’d want you, but they’d know that you belong to me, that you wouldn’t let anyone else do this to you. And they’d be jealous of me for having you, of you for being so hot.”

“Pat, I gotta-“

Jonny’s voice breaks a little, body fizzing with tension, shame, and desire for release. He’s so fucking close, pushed toward the edge with every thrust of the dildo against his prostate, thighs tense and quivering around Patrick. His cock feels too heavy, curved up against his stomach, burning for more touch, and Jonny can’t resist it any further. He reaches down to touch himself, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock and moaning loudly from the sensation of it.

“Yeah, Jonny,” Patrick says, voice breaking off at the end, hand quick as he pushes the dildo in and up, exactly where he knows Jonny needs it while Jonny jerks himself frantically. “Come on. I know you wanna come, let me see. I wanna see you come on my cock.”

Jonny whines, throwing his head back against the pillow, hips jerking forward into his hand and back against Patrick, and then he’s coming. It’s like a bursting moment of brilliant whiteness, cock spurting in the circle of his fingers, chasing, chasing the sensation, back arching.

“Love you,” Patrick says, shutting off the vibrations and leaving the dildo inside so he can run both hands along the inside of Jonny’s thighs.

Sighing, Jonny lets himself fall back against the bed.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, blinking up at Patrick’s beautiful, flushed face, curls matted to his forehead.

Patrick leans forward, draping himself over Jonny’s front despite the sticky wetness of Jonny’s come on his stomach, mouth finding Jonny’s, desperate for it. Jonny can feel him, hard as nails, rutting against Jonny’s stomach in incremental rolls of his hips, and he kisses him back gladly, wrapping both arms around him. His mind is fuzzy and relaxed, still full of Pat, and Pat’s word. Curious about how far Patrick would be ready to go.

“I wanna try,” he says lazily. “What you said. In public.”

Patrick looks at him, eyes shining, a little hazed.

“Gonna fucking mess you up.”

 

***

 

After Jonny had asked to push this fantasy of theirs outside of their bedroom, Patrick had built him up to this moment, from just going for a walk with a toy up his ass to working out at a public gym with his dick just as painfully hard as it is now, feeling like every single person around them had to be watching him.

One time, they hadn’t even made it home afterwards. At Johnny’s Ice House, after a round of skate to test just how bad a plug would make Jonny’s coordination on ice, Jonny had dragged Patrick to one of the bathrooms and demanded Patrick fuck him right there. Patrick had had to muffle Jonny’s moans with his hand, biting at Jonny’s neck to keep himself silent, but it had been perfect, Jonny already fully stretched out from the plug and ready for Patrick to slide his cock right in.

When they get home from this game, Jonny is going to ride Patrick into the mattress and hold him down, so Jonny can use him like his own personal toy.

He grins at Patrick across the ice. Patrick nearly skates right into Brinsky.

Jonny thinks that he should feel guilty for being out on the ice like this, turning his job into a sexual fantasy with his boyfriend, but while there’s a lick of shame at the base of his spine when he thinks of being found out, he can’t bring himself to feel anything but excited. This _isn’t_ just sex. He’s also challenging his hockey in new ways, battling with control over his own body, trying to get the maximum out of it under new conditions.

“Pass,” Patrick suddenly yells, promptly shooting three pucks in Jonny’s direction, one after the other, and Jonny startles, looking back at him.

He flounders the first pass, but he’s got his stick out for the second, shooting it right back at Patrick, and directing the third towards the closest goal. Patrick cheers, before whizzing off, like he’s got some energy to burn too. A little hot in the face, ever-conscious of the plug inside of him, Jonny follows suit. Left, right, left, right, every stride causing the plug to shift between his cheeks, and at the same time making him more aware of his body than he is at other times.

When the game is finally set to start, Jonny is ready at the dot to take the faceoff. That consciousness of his body, of the plug snug between his cheeks, feels like more of a distraction than it does a help.

Bent over like he is, it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to imagine more, to imagine Patrick skating up behind him and tugging at the base of the plug, or maybe someone behind him seeing the outline through his pants and _knowing_. Any one of the players behind him right now could guess. Jonny feels hot from the inside for being turned on by that thought.

His knuckles have to be white where they’re gripping his stick.

The puck drops, Jonny surges forward, blade knocking against the puck, and he gets it out from under Bozak’s stick, but he doesn’t slide it quite right, and in the flurry of movement that follows, it’s the Blues that find themselves in puck possession.

Jonny swears and takes the ice skating on, forgetting the plug for about one second until the acceleration sends a jolt through his entire body and makes him choke a little bit.

After that, it’s a push and pull between how good he feels, all the way inside his body, the exertion and arousal marrying into each other as he dekes around an opponent, and the feeling of shame and guilt that comes from doing this in the first place, when he knows he shouldn’t. Jonny feels on fire. Jonny _is_ on fire. His mind is full from the familiar pull of muscles, the glide of his skates on cold ice, the ever-present knowledge of the plug inside of him.

Patrick is the one who always compares hockey to good sex, talks about goals being like orgasms and getting hard from watching Jonny play. Right now, hockey _is_ sex. Jonny feels like he’s stretched between two worlds, exhilarated in a way he had no idea about until this moment.

He passes to Saader, who tries to get the puck to the front, to Duncs, back to Jonny, skating to avoid a Blues stick, passing again. Takes a shot on goal that only misses by a small margin.

Every time that Jonny gets called back to the bench in between shifts, he has to sit on the plug, feel the reminder of what he’s doing.

He’s sure that every guy on the team must at least know that something is up. He feels their eyes on him, burning – feels Patrick’s eyes the most, the knowing smirk he wears when he spots Jonny rolling his hips, just a little, trying to find a better position on the bench with his gloves in his lap to hide his hard-on from potentially showing through his jersey, as unlikely as that is.

Patrick can’t do much to rile him up on the bench, not without someone becoming suspicious about not only the plug, but also their relationship. Still, he gives it his best, brushing against Jonny whenever he can, giving Jonny ass taps on his way out, squeezing his neck once or twice. Every touch is like a shock of electricity, making Jonny want to slam Patrick against the board and fuck him up.

After the first period, the game is 1 and 1, and Jonny might die. The plug is like an itch he can’t scratch that only seems to take up more space inside his mind with time passing. He’s jittery and wound up beyond what he’s used to. He wants to drag Patrick into a corner and beg him to take the plug out. He wants to get off. He wants to play hockey and actually be able to focus.

When he talks to the team, a few encouraging words about their first period successes, he glares so hard that it’s Patrick who drags him someplace quiet.

“How are you feeling?” Patrick asks, working his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s not sure what to do with a keyed up Jonny who’s pressing himself against the wall behind him and breathing hard. “You need to tap out? There’s still another hour to go.”

Jonny lets out a breath.

He wants to say yes, because he doesn’t think he’s in a good mindset for playing right now.

But Patrick is looking at him with that worried look in his eyes, ready to call the whole thing off if Jonny is uncomfortable, and Jonny wants to do it for him. He wants to be good. More than that, he wants to push himself, have that control, and he knows he can do it.

“Who do you take me for, a quitter?” he asks, laughing a little.

Already, he feels himself loosen up a little, thanks to a combination of being somewhere quiet, and Patrick’s presence. There is never a moment where Jonny doesn’t feel better just from being close with Patrick. It didn’t used to be that way, in the days they would rile each other up more than help each other come down, but they’ve been together for too long for that to be the case anymore.

Still, Patrick doesn’t let up, pressing their hips together so he can stare Jonny down like he’s trying to imitate Jonny’s own death stare. It’s unfortunate for him that it only serves to make Jonny feel fond.

“Seriously though, we’re only doing this for fun, you don’t have to force yourself.”

Jonny feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m good, babe.”

He flexes his thighs a little, pushing his hips forward against Patrick’s. He’s not hard anymore, but he still feels the pressure between his cheeks. A spark of heat bursts at the back of his neck, thinking of anyone spotting them so close together. Patrick groans, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from Jonny’s lips, before stepping back again.

“You’re so fucking hot, Jonny, you know that?”

Jonny’s grin just widens, and Patrick rolls his eyes, all tension gone between them. That’s a question Jonny doesn’t need to answer.

“You’re so fucking conceited, ugh,” Patrick says feelingly.

“Love you,” Jonny says, winking. Patrick laughs. “Let’s go kick some Blues ass, eh?”

 

***

 

After that, Jonny feels more relaxed about the whole thing. All they’re doing is playing – with each other, with their hockey performances. It’s something they’ve done before.

When Jonny thinks about it, it’s even easier than that, because he might have gotten into his head about the plug situation, but it’s only that, a simple plug. He doesn’t have a vibrating dildo up his ass that Patrick is controlling with a remote from somewhere. He’s let Patrick take that kind of control before, but he wouldn’t during a hockey game.

This time, he’s the one controlling his every movement, and if he gets off on the pressure that the plug gives against his prostate on particularly hard strides on the ice, well. It’s a bonus.

The second period goes by without nearly as much jitteriness. He’s anchored in his body, in the present, and he manages to separate out the feeling of the plug from the focus of his mind, shooting the pass under a defenseman’s legs towards Arty, falling into a celly with him, teammates crashing into him in celebration.

There’s a part of Jonny that wants everyone to know. He can do this, play a winning game and combine it with public indecency, and not have anybody notice because he’s just that good. There might always be room to be better – never be satisfied with yourself or others, or you won’t be driven for more, for greatness – but damn if this doesn’t feel like a peak for him.

In the third period, it’s Patrick who scores. Jonny is sitting on the bench, bent forward towards to ice so he can see better, eyes never leaving the puck, and when Patrick’s shot bounces off the corner of the net, skidding inside, past the goalie’s shoulder, Jonny stops breathing.

The horn blows, and then there’s Patrick skating a circle towards the bench, cheering, and Jonny loves him, has never wanted him more. He’s impossibly hard, looking at Patrick’s radiant face, thinking _yes, him_. Jonny wants to be on the ice to hold him so viscerally that it hurts. Instead, it’s their teammates yelling in Patrick’s ear about the goal, never able to tell him how amazing he is as well as Jonny, but that’s okay. Jonny will praise him enough later.

Patrick looks towards the bench and grins at Jonny, flashing his perfect dimples. Jonny presses his knees together, feeling heat pool in his belly, feeling the hardness of the plug between his cheeks. The arousal has to be written all over his face.

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, knowing that Patrick won’t hear him, but might read his lips.

Sebas laughs and nudges him from the side.

 

***

 

They win the game by one goal, with the Blues catching up to two goals five minutes before the end of the period.

It feels like Jonny is flying. This has to be a testament to how good he and Patrick are, how good their team is. It’s just a preseason game, but right now, they are invincible.

The ride back to the hotel is a blur, with Jonny antsy in the back seat of their cab, needy for Patrick’s touch. They’re both high off the impunity of the win. Patrick’s curls are still wet from the shower, matted to the back of his neck, and there’s a flush on his cheeks that Jonny wants to lick. He keeps glancing sideways towards Jonny, biting his lips compulsively, meeting Jonny’s eyes every single time. Jonny balls his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and palming himself through his pants.

As soon as Jonny’s hotel door falls shut behind them, Jonny is crowding Patrick against the wall, sealing off Patrick’s gasps with his lips. Usually, Jonny likes it when Patrick is the one manhandling him, but this is not the time for that. The urgency inside his chest makes him want to take, take everything that Patrick has to offer him, and Patrick seems only too willing to open his mouth for Jonny and rolls his hips forward, already fully hard against Jonny’s throbbing cock.

“Good fucking game,” Jonny growls.

Patrick lets out a breathless laugh and pulls in Jonny again, kissing him harder, using tongue and teeth until Jonny is dizzy from it.

“Let me fuck you,” Patrick gets out. “I gotta, babe.”

Patrick’s voice is raspy in a way that makes Jonny moan despite himself. He wants it. He’s so fucking hard, so fucking stretched, and he needs Patrick’s cock inside him now. The plug has long stopped doing anything for him in terms of sensation. No, he needs something longer, something that will move inside him, get his prostate good like Patrick knows how to.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jonny just says, and then he’s dragging Patrick off to the bedroom, immediately stripping out of his clothes.

A burning shiver goes down his spine as soon as he’s naked, because Patrick stops to just look, mouth slightly ajar. His cock is hard in his jeans, face flush, and Jonny knows that Patrick has to be thinking some version of how beautiful he thinks Jonny is. He always does.

His gaze is like a fuel to Jonny’s arousal, making Jonny reach down to hold his cock, pressing it flat against his stomach, just to relieve some of the pressure. Patrick makes a wounded noise.

“Get on the fucking bed,” Jonny says.

Patrick eyes snaps back up to his face, so dark the blue in them has nearly disappeared.

“You gonna ride me, baby?” he asks.

Not waiting for answer, he obliges Jonny’s request, lying down on his back for Jonny to use however he likes, without even bothering to get out of his clothes. Like this, Jonny is the only one exposed. The one for show.

Jonny grins breathlessly and goes to get the lube while Patrick opens his zipper. Jonny loves him like this, looking absolutely ridiculous with just his cock standing out, thick and hard and perfect. Jonny already knows that he’s going to be feeling the zipper of Patrick’s slacks as he fucks himself. He’s looking forward to it.

When he reaches behind himself to take out the plug, it feels like a moment of pure liberation. His hole flutters around the newfound emptiness, screaming for something to cling to, already loose and ready for fucking. Jonny places the plug on Patrick’s chest.

“Yeah, Jonny,” Patrick breathes.

Jonny grins, pouring lube on his fingers. “Hang in there, Peeks.”

The moment he sinks down on Patrick’s cock is pure bliss. It goes easily, from the lube and everything else, but it goes deep. It stretches out Jonny fully and so fucking good, better than a plug could ever manage. And along with it, there are the visuals of Patrick’s flushed, scrunched up face as he tries to contain himself. Jonny knows that he wants to thrust up, because it’s hard for Patrick to just lie still and take it, but when Jonny splays out his fingers on Patrick’s chest, next to the plug, Patrick just blinks up at him, breathing hard and staying still for Jonny.

“I love you,” Jonny says.

“Love you too.”

Neither of them are interested in any sort of foreplay right now. Jonny goes hard, right away. He fucks down, impaling himself on Patrick’s cock, again and again, testing how he spreads out his weight until he finds a position that allows him to get the head of Patrick’s cock against his prostate on every thrust. He fucks himself with long, hard thrusts of his hips, despite the burn in his legs from the game, despite the way his rim aches.

“God yes,” he chants, wringing every ounce of pleasure out of Patrick while Patrick’s fingers dig into his thighs painfully.

Everything about it is amazing. There’s little flares of pain in his ass, from Patrick’s zipper, from how wide and hard he’s stretched around Patrick’s cock, from Patrick’s nails in the meat of his thighs. There’s the plug on Patrick’s chest reminding him of what they’ve done every time he looks down. There’s Patrick’s eyes on him, admiring, Patrick’s red mouth, open around harsh breaths that Jonny is pushing out of him. He looks _wrecked_.

“Yeah,” is all Patrick says when Jonny tells him. “Jonny, the things you do to me-“

His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut, and then he’s coming, deep inside Jonny’s ass, while Jonny switches to grinding his hips for maximum prostate stimulation.

Jonny gets one hand on his cock, just holding it, and lets his movement do the rest. Patrick lets out a broken whine at Jonny continuing to fuck himself on his cock, fingers twitching on Jonny’s thighs. And he takes it. He lies back and lets Jonny use him to wring out his own orgasm, not piping a single word about how oversensitive his cock has to feel right now.

Between the feel of Patrick’s come filling him up and the look on Patrick’s face as Jonny fucks himself in slow rolls of his hips, Jonny gone before Patrick can go soft.

“Fuck,” he says feelingly.

Patrick groans as Jonny finally gets off him, letting his cock slip out. Jonny plasters himself against Patrick’s side and buries his face against Patrick’s neck.

“You killed me,” Patrick says, wrapping his arms around Jonny to pull him close. “You’re a fucking death machine.”

“Mmh,” Jonny agrees. “That’s cause you’re getting old.”

Patrick laughs against Jonny’s hair, a warm breath that makes Jonny’s stomach swoop.

“Who’s the one that scored today?”

Jonny looks up indignantly. “Fuck you, I got an assist.”

“Yeah and you were _distracted_.”

Jonny bites Patrick’s jaw in punishment, before resting his face on the pillow again, smiling. He really fucking did that. It feels crazy just thinking about it. And yet Jonny feels amazing. Every muscle in his body is hurting from exertion, in the best possible way. If anything, he’s getting floaty now, on feel-good hormones from both the effort and the orgasm, and Patrick’s closeness only makes it all better.

“You loved it,” Jonny says, absolutely sure of himself.

Patrick hums, kissing Jonny’s temple.

“Good game, baby. Good fucking game.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://eubiass.tumblr.com/)


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